


Withered Flowers, Brittle Thorns

by Mystery_Name



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Flower AU, One-Shot, Peter B. Parker Needs a Hug, Sadness, and I will give him that hug, and sweetness, but also fluff, flowers for you and you and everyone!, love and acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 05:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystery_Name/pseuds/Mystery_Name
Summary: The flowers he obtained over the years, the marigolds and dandelions, and lilies, and Lycoris, and dahlias died. The symbols of his triumphs, loves, successes and friendships were gone.And...he just couldn't find it in him to care anymore.What was the point?He's ruined everything in his life. The media was getting on his back more and more for his mess-ups, and he couldn't blame them. He was the worst hero out there, and his city deserved better. He was just as much a problem than the villains he fought.He was useless. Worthless.The only thing he had left was nature documentaries and pizza.That is, until one night when an interdimensional portal opened up in his room.





	Withered Flowers, Brittle Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Things to know! This is set in an AU where people get flowers and/thorns on their bodies when they go through different circumstances. I hope you guys like, I had so much fun writing this, and I absolutely adored "Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse."
> 
> NOTE: I changed up a few things in Peter B.'s origin. As in, he broke his back AFTER MJ and him divorced. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

 

* * *

**1**

He lost his first flower the day they put Aunt May's coffin in the ground.

The beautiful tulips that bloomed along his shoulders throughout the years had shriveled into husks the moment the first mound of dirt landed inside the grave. He didn't need to see them to know that they were dying off. He could feel the petals turning to dust as the stems hardened and grew thick bristles. By the time he made it back home, they were nothing but a gnarled branch of thorns sitting a top his shoulders.

Peter noticed, but couldn't bring himself to look. For the first couple of days, in the hours that he  _wasn't_  grieving with MJ, he was busying himself as Spider-Man. He didn't want to see the repercussions of losing his Aunt. Seeing it made it real. So, he went out every night, all night, and came back early in the morning, went to work, came home, and the cycle repeated.

It was only when MJ confronted him about his, albeit, unhealthy grieving method, did he stop long enough to take a shower. When he threw his shirt on the ground and looked into the mirror, half-expecting to see the beautiful, blooming tulips, his heart withered. All that was left were thorns. The flowers, once the same pigment as her eyes, were gone.

The hole puncturing his heart yawned wider.

It was true then. Aunt May  _was_ gone. She was  _really_ gone. He'd never see her again. Never kiss her forehead when she sent him on his way with food. Never feel her fingers ruffle his hair when he forgot to cut it. Never visit Uncle Ben's grave every year with her.

Because now…there were two graves he'd be visiting.

He didn't know when it happened, all he knew was that he belonged on the ground, and sank into a huddled pile on the floor, back against the wall.

He didn't end up showering.

MJ found him still sitting there the next morning.

**2**

The 2nd time he lost a flower, it was the blue forget-me-nots that dotted his temple.

Money was getting tighter, and MJ wasn't making enough to support them both financially.

The Spider-themed restaurant turned out to be a terrible idea and was under wraps within the first two weeks. Consquentially, their money crisis only got worse. Looking at the terrible reviews, failing numbers, and ever-increasing bills, it felt as though every financial problem was a sack of bowling balls hanging off his shoulders.

He was  _supposed_  to be smart. He was  _supposed_  to help FIX the problem, not make it worse. What was the point of having a brain as "intelligent" as his if he couldn't help? He was useless. Worthless. Of course the restaurant wouldn't work, what was he thinking?

_You're an idiot, Parker. You're an idiot and now MJ is gonna have to work over-time because you're stupid-ass can't do anything right._

Through the crude reflection in his dirtied laptop screen, he watched as the forget-me-nots blackened, making room for a vine of thorns that curled around his temple.

**3**

The third time Peter lost a flower, it was the one he'd grown to cherish the most.

He knew his relationship with MJ was getting dicey, ever since the first night she brought up the idea of starting a family.

Peter would never forget the excitement in her eyes. The vivacity of her voice. The awe in the domestic fantasies she painted for the both of them as they lay in bed.

Nor could he ever forget the abject terror that gripped his heart.

Start a family? Have  _kids_? Sure, they've been married for a bit, but...a family...

There were so many things to consider, like how he was going to support and love his children. How was he going to keep his family safe? The sheer level of incompetency he's shown in the superhero community was unfathomable.

He hadn't been able to keep Aunt May safe, he's displayed obvious incompetence finance wise, and - as much as a part of him wanted to - he couldn't give up being Spider-Man. Because (as much as saying it made him want to throw-up and die),  _with great power there must also come great responsibility_. He still had a responsibility to New York. To  _Spider-Man._

To Uncle Ben.

If having responsibilities like Spider-Man was in any way like having a family, Peter didn't think he could do it. There were a great many things he's screwed up, and a whole plethora of mistakes waiting for him, but a family was NOT going to be one of them.

Perhaps he could've been more gentle when he shot her down, though. Maybe if he had sorted through his thoughts a little better and got his reasons out, he would have been able to stop the hurt disappointment from replacing her excitement.

"…fine...okay," her voice was low, words tight, and she turned her back to him, and went to sleep.

Then the arguments followed. They started out small, but only grew. MJ stopped confided in him, and he couldn't bring himself to dump his domestic fears on her. So the arguments got more frequent. Empty silences began filling the dinner table. Neither of them was ignorant of the way they began avoiding each other.

Peter should've known what was about to happen. Should've seen it coming. Should've tried to prevent it.

They tried to find a way past the differing domestic views, but it got too hard. MJ was heartbroken, and why wouldn't she be? It's not as if Peter had completely murdered her plans for them both. It's not as if he didn't shoot her down every time she brought it up.

He signed the divorce papers, even though it felt like ripping his very heart out.

As soon as he could, he looked toward the only escape he could think of.

He pulled out the Spidey costume, grabbed his web shooters, and prepared himself for a grueling, miserable night on the town when he noticed that the rose on his chest looked considerably smaller. It was right over his heart, a flower planted there by MJ. She had a blue spider-lily over her own.

Just seeing it felt like claws sinking into his chest.

Jerking his spandex on, he threw the window open and dived face-first into New York.

He was out the whole night, the entire day, and the following evening. The emotions tearing him up throughout the hours. The grief, the pain, the heart _ache,_ the anger, the rage, the sorrow. He felt as though he'd been infected with a symbiote all over again. An entity that fed him negativity. Or maybe he was the one feeding  _it_ his.

By the time he retired to his recently-acquired apartment, he was drained, mentally, physically, and emotionally. He hobbled to the bathroom, turned the shower on, and began the strenuous task of undressing. Crime fighting seemed harder than it had been. Granted, he didn't try blocking most of the punches.

His shirt was off when it caught his eye. The rose over his heart was nearly gone. Shriveled so small, he could barely see it through the tight cluster of thorns hiding it from view.

The rose, his love for MJ...

Where did it go?

That hurt. It hurt worse than every hit he took in the past few days. The rose on his chest, right over his heart – the symbol of his and MJ's connection - was gone.

For the longest time, he couldn't move. He was snapped out of his paralyzed state of mind when the old shower-spout screeched from its waning water pressure. Quickly, he yanked his shirt back on, too afraid to see the knot over his heart again.

A glass film seemed to slide over his eyes. Its surface was muddled and foggy, casting everything around him in a hazy gloom. The shower was still running. Sweat and the stench of garbage hung off him like a coat. Numbly, almost robotically, he stepped in the shower, only faintly aware that he was still in full costume.

A long minute passed of him staring at the grimy, water-stained tiles before he collapsed. Falling down into the tub floor, he curled his knees into his chest, hugging them tightly, and cried.

It was as if every tragedy and screw-up of last year came crashing down on him in one unfailing swoop. And at the top of his misery, the rotten cherry to his sloppy, putrescent excuse for a sundae, the separation between him and MJ seeped through the cracks, painting his ribs, lungs, and heart in dark sable gunk. The type of gunk that came out of old trash heaps.

Of course his epiphany hits him during his pity shower, because where else? Dammit, he's messed up  _so much_. All he ever did was hurt everyone around him. He loved MJ - loved her with everything he had - but it was because of  _him_  that she was gone. It was  _his_ fault those thorns were there. Not her's.

He cut her off, disassociated himself, and for that he didn't deserve her rose.

Peter was plummeting, and not even Spider-Man could save him.

**4**

The fourth time he lost a flower was when he broke his back.

A fall he didn't necessarily want to stop. His reward: a thick trunk of gnarled thorns that grew down his spine.

The  **5** **th** time he lost a flower, it wasn't even just one. Every hit he took, every punch to the face he welcomed, every kick he didn't bother to block, the flowers died and thorns grew. Spreading, coiling, and connecting till he was nothing but a bristle layer of weeds underneath a bright costume.

He stopped reaching out to people, too ashamed. Too afraid.

The flowers he obtained over the years, the marigolds and dandelions, and lilies, and lycoris, and dahlias died. The symbols of his triumphs, loves, successes and friendships were gone.

And...he just couldn't find it in him to care anymore.

What was the point?

He's ruined everything in his life. He couldn't even do superheroing right. The media was getting on his back more and more for his mess-ups, and he couldn't blame them. He was the worst hero out there, and his city deserved better. It couldn't even be considered  _his_ city anymore. He was just as much a problem than the villains he fought.

They were all right. He was useless. Worthless.

The only thing he had left was nature documentaries and pizza.

That is, until one night when an interdimensional portal opened up in his room.

* * *

 

* * *

And then he met Miles Morales.

After a few days of slinking around, Peter gathered the courage to stop by the cemetery. He wanted to wish his other-self a farewell, if just out of respect, and that was when he saw the kid for the first time.

His back was turned, so there was nothing distinguishing about him other than his drooping shoulders and tiny build. Peter would've thought nothing of it and waited for the kid to move on if he hadn't picked up what the kid was saying.

"-ister Parker, but that thing you gave me. That key." the kid moved, cradling something in his hand. "I think I  _really_  screwed it up."

THAT got Peter's attention. This small, lanky kid had associated with this Peter Parker -  _talked_ with his other self - before he died. Maybe the kid knew what happened. Those who usually kept in the company of Spider-Man were in the thick of things, so maybe the kid could help him.

Granted, Peter  _probably_ shouldn't have approached him from behind at a dark-hour of night, a dirty, scuffed up man with thorns all over his body. So, yeah, admittedly that was  _on him_.

But the kid didn't need to  _electrocute_ him.

Then it was bright again and he was getting pulled through the air because the kid was apparently a  _maniac_ and trying to KILL him. This must've been how this dimensions Spider-Man died.

And then he was knocked out AGAIN.

So, given that, Peter wasn't exactly in the best mood when he woke up the second time crudely tied to a punching bag – which was ironic in itself because he already considered himself a universal punching bag - with the lanky, maniac kid trying to interrogate him.

In a very bad way, Peter might add, because he's been interrogated a number of times, and this was definitely lacking - don't ask, the mafia sucked.

Turns out, the kid was actually a spider. Which was...interesting. Kind of young though. Last Peter knew, they were supposed to come in 15's, not 12's.

At least the kid looked 12, how old was he?

At first glance, Peter couldn't tell If the kid even had any flowers (or thorns) on him. He was green. A seed. A young bud.

Until he noticed the petals of prairie gentian on the palms of his hands, and a small lacing of marigolds on his brow, almost obstructed by the shadows of the room. Upon closer inspection, Peter noticed that there was a line of bristled thorns on his wrist too. But when the kid realized he was looking, he tucked his hands in his jeans and kept on pestering him with questions.

But there was time to dwell on that later, because as Peter suspected, Miles DID know how he got there. Kingpin turned on some inter-dimensional collider machine for some - likely evil - reason, so at least Peter had a way to get back home.

Now, all he needed to do was find the collider and hop in when it turned on again. Coolio. Fantastic. Piece of cake.

What he _didn't_  expect was to adopt the kid as his personal shadow along the way.

Admittedly, Miles had some pretty good information - like the goober (whether it was busted or not) and the collider being in Kingpins basement, but that was in no way, shape, or form, an invitation to enlist him in some part-time Spider-Man coach shtick.

The kids' Spider-Man might've offered to teach him the ropes, but Spider-Man's promises didn't automatically apply to OTHER Spider-Men, especially if that Spider-Man didn't even belong in that universe. Peter wasn't obligated to take Miles under his wing. He didn't have to teach him the tricks of the trade. It wasn't on him.

And YET the kid had the _audacity_ to make him feel guilty about it. He wasn't going to bring some  _kid_ along. Maybe that made him hypocritical because HE had been that same confused kid once, but...

But seriously, it was better for Miles to stay out of it anyway. Peter wasn't going to let him tag along and kill himself...

Nope...no he was NOT, because he didn't have time for that. This dimensions issues were not his problem.

The kid could pout on the wall all he wanted because Peter wasn't going to give in.

He WASN'T.

Sure, Miles was probably confused, and hurt, and worried...and...scared? He could be scared. Alone. So in over his head that he didn't know what to do...

Inexperienced because no one else was there to help...no one to talk to...lonely... _so lonely..._

But NO! Miles was NOT going to win. He wasn't! He...the kid was...

Okay, Miles won.

Whatever, don't worry about it. Peter supposed it involved him to, so  _might as well_...

Besides, if he didn't take him - if personal experience was anything to go by - then Miles was just going to do something irrational and get himself tied up in it anyway. So, this was probably for the best, and he wasn't just saying that because Miles also paid for his dinner.

Just for the record though, if Peter had known that into doing so they adopt another spider, he would've declined.

Which...Peter wasn't actually as irritated as he expected himself to be.

Sure, maybe he was a little exasperated, but that was because he had _really_  been looking forward to the bagel they lost at Alchemax.

Gwen had a bit more color on her than Miles. A bushel of larkspur grew up her neck and cheek, but through the blue petals, thorns peeped through - Peter suspected those had appeared when her friend died. Still, she seemed like a great kid, and she already knew Miles, so he didn't have to suffer through any awkward adult-to-teenager-teenager introductions, which he appreciated.

Nor did he find it irritating when Miles broken goober was put on him. The kid had been through enough already AND he went in to help Peter when he didn't have to. So it was fine. Besides, those two were kinda cute, so whatever.

They were a LOT less cute when they dragged him to Aunt May's house.

Which, okay,  _okay_ , maybe he should've thought this one through too, because he was NOT ready to face this. His Aunt May's death was still a bleeding wound, and there was no way he was going to come out of this confrontation without sustaining heavy emotional injury.

What would Aunt May think of him now? With his clothes, and his smell - gosh, the  _smell_ \- and his THORNS. He wasn't like her Peter Parker. Couldn't even hold up a candle to him.

Yet, when they're eyes met, it was like seeing all his pain and yearning reflected back at him. Aunt May, alive and healthy, and  _okay._  And when she touched his face, when her warm fingers grazed his skin, the wound closed. A burdening weight on his shoulders vanished and his heart felt lighter. He would always miss Aunt May, but it was good to know that somewhere, in some dimension, she was still alive. It was the closure he needed.

But he still didn't hold a candle to her Peter, with his very,  _very_ pompous Spider-cave-. Like, okay, did he really need to go _that_  overboard? What happened to financial crisis and back-breaking money issues? That was, like, their  _thing_. And this guy just tossed it out the window like it was nothing - hahaha..yeah...what a - what a jerk, right?

...he  _really_ needed to get his life together.

Which seemed almost impossible when he met the other three Spiders.

Peni Parker, with vibrant clusters of poppies and forget-me-nots painting her skin. (She had thorns too).

He could only assume Spider-Ham was a vibrant, cartoonish painting of roses and dandelions. But when he took off his mask, if just for a second, Peter saw thorns.

To be honest, Spider-Man Noir seemed like the only one could match Peter, thorn wise. He kept himself covered at all times, but the way he regarded Peter's bristles, the ones they could see, not even batting an eye at them. As if he's seen it all before, and worse.

When Miles saw them he'd been (politely) surprised, Gwen slightly caught off guard, Spider-Ham ignored them, Peni Parker gave him a sad smile, but it was Noir who'd simply clapped him on the shoulder, nodded at him knowingly, and that was it. Didn't need to say it because he  _knows._ He understood what it was like having so many thorns. To constantly catch people's eye because -  _hell, how does someone get so many? What did he do? What happened to him? I'm glad it isn't me._

Cause that's the thing. Flowers were beautiful. They filled your skin with color and beauty. Of all the love and success and character you have. All the good you've done. Painting your skin with trophies because  _you did it! You made it out alive and whole. Congratulations!_

Whereas thorns were a different story. A testimony to what you've done, but instead of beauty and color, it was dry and brittle. Pain, and hurt, and depression, and  _I can't_ , and  _don'ts,_ and  _pathetic,_ and  _menace_ , and bent, and unfixable. A sign painted on your back.  _Troubled and broken,_ it said.  _Look here, this person's been through hell. Make sure to stare long and hard, but keep your distance. You don't want to be cut._

Yet, the spiders didn't keep their distance.

Miles, Aunt May, Gwen, Peni, Spider-Ham, and Noir - they didn't stare, or look at him with pity or skepticism. They brought him in, laughed him with, joked with him, grabbed his heart and helped it back up after it's been lying on the ground for so long. He thought it was incapable of ever standing again.

These people, with all their stories, and flowers, and - yes - thorns.

_They were like him._

And he wanted them to be happy back. He wanted Miles to know that he was going to be okay. Peter knew Miles watched his Spider-Man die, which is where he got those thorns on his wrist. Experiencing something like that, so  _young,_ it was bound to leave an impression.

And Peter didn't want Mile to get anymore. He wanted this kid to know that he could DO this. That he was going to be okay. He could be Spider-Man and he would be great.

If only the rest of the Spiders saw it that way. Sure, he'd admit that they had a right to be wary. Miles was still pretty green to the superhero wallcrawler shtick, but they had to give him a chance. The kid was impressive, and he had the heart for the job. Peter's seen it, experienced, almost cried because he could  _feel_ it.

The kid couldn't be knocked down.

Which was why it was so startling when he burst through Aunt May's door the next day in hysterics. Babbling, on the verge of tears, and so panicked it physically hurt.

It was something about the Prowler.

That his uncle...was...the Prowler?

Peter didn't have much time to wrap his head around that when they were attacked.

Ock was back again. Which Peter wasn't exactly thrilled about, seeing how their last interaction involved her eagerness to watch his atoms break down and deteriorate. Oh, and because she tried to kill them too, what's up with that?

Then the Prowler showed up and there was no way in  _hell_ Peter was going to make Miles confront that. The kid was hysterical as it was.

Which is why it was  _very bad_ when he lost sight of Miles in the battle. Peter tried to find him - tried  _desperately_ to find him - but there were so many things happening. So many people trying to punch him at once. Spider-people jumping in and out of his vision, left and right, but none of them were Miles. He couldn't see the Prowler either, and that was firing off some major no-no's in his head.

He eventually followed the sound of a gunshot outside. He didn't have time to wonder how they got there or the fact that the Prowler was unmasked and in Miles's arm. All he focused on was the gun Kingpin had pointed at Mile's and that he was NOT going to allow it.

Stopping the shot was the easy part, keeping Kingpin's monstrous butt off Miles was the other. But he managed to buy him time to get himself and his uncle away.

Thankfully, the police showed up and coerced the villains into retreating. Wilson Fisk couldn't be seen in public with that lot, and his hasty group of criminals had enough obedience training to scurry off when they were called.

Peter and the rest of the Spider's couldn't be seen either. (The world wasn't ready for that headache yet.) So, they regrouped in the spider-cave, listening to the police scanners for any word of Miles or the villains.

That's when they heard it. Aaron Davis was found dead in an alleyway, and there was an APB out for a new Spider-Man.

They found Miles back in his school dorm. The room was a ravaged mess. Miles even more so. The pain in his eyes, the trauma and horror etched in the lines of his face, the grief staining his hands and clothes. The rage that replaced the child-like excitement Peter's grown used to.

"I have to make him pay!" Miles shouted, eyes burning. "You have to let me make him pay!"

That's when Peter noticed the thorns. New ones that grew in clusters in Mile's hand, curling around the purple and black praire gentian flowers on his palms. They were bristled and hard, identical to the one Peter's seen on his own body dozens of times.

He...he didn't want Miles to have those. That's what he was trying to avoid.

And he failed...again.

But Peter wasn't going to let it happen a second time. The other spiders were right. Miles wasn't ready. Maybe if he realized that sooner, it could've been avoided. Miles would've have left the Spider-cave, wouldn't have discovered his Uncle's secret, and Aaron Davis would be alive, and those thorns wouldn't have to mark Miles the way they did him.

So, he made a choice.

Miles would say behind.

It was hard having to hold Miles back. Gripping the front of his shirt, challenging him to get past Peter, to hone his abilities and show them that he could do it. A part of Peter really hoped that he would.

But he couldn't. So he left Miles tied up in his room, trying to forget his look of hurt as Peter and the rest of them left him behind.

he understood what it was like to want revenge. The hate it injected in your brain, that burned and rotted your liver and organs like a disease. The impact it had. The actions it could lead to.

He couldn't let that happen to him. Not Miles, who deserved so much better.

It's all he could think about on the way to Fisk Tower. But he needed to push those thoughts to the side and focus. He needed to get the rest of the Spiders home before it was too late.

The fact that Fisk was throwing a ceremony in honor of Spider-Man left a bitter taste in Peter's mouth. That guy killed him and had the audacity to call them friends? Right in front of the city? Peter was going to have to web slap him for that one once he got the other Spiders home.

Granted, the theme did make getting in easier. Peter almost couldn't believe that it actually worked. All it took was sneaking into the kitchen, grabbing a few extra bowties and some platters and waltzing around in plain sight.

Then Peter saw MJ and holy  _shiiiit._ Hell, he loved her so much. Just looking at her and it was as if a shrapnel bomb went off in his chest, and he was  _bleeding_ emotion. If he was going to die, he at least needed her to know that he was sorry. That she deserved better and that, if given the chance, he would've treated her so much better.

He'd give her all the fresh, home-cooked bread she'd want.

Walking away from her afterward felt like ripping a hole in his chest again. But, it was a bit of closure in of itself. She might've not been his dimensions MJ, but at least one MJ new that Peter B. Parker was sorry for being a grade-A jerk.

They made it down to the basement easy enough, then it was just a matter of using the goober to take control of the collider. It should've been easy, if villains weren't so gosh-damn difficult. They couldn't have interfered 5 minutes later? No, they just  _had_ to cut straight to trying to kill you.

And kill them they would've. Or, at least, Dock Ock would've killed him off. Which, no! That was not how it was supposed to go. If Peter was going to die, he was  _at least_ going to die getting the Spiders home to the people they loved. Peter's made a LOT of mistakes, but THIS was not going to be one of them.

Because, the thing is, he didn't need to go home. Perhaps it was just better that he didn't. There was nothing for Peter in his dimension. MJ was better off without him there, anyway. All he had been was a black-spot at home. A stain the city couldn't wash away no matter how hard they tried, and believe him, they tried.

And that was okay. He didn't want to be a bother anymore. As long as the other Spiders got home, then what was a bit of atom deterioration? In fact, a part of him kind of welcomed it.

If only Doc Ock would kindly get out the way!

At first, Peter wasn't sure if he thought it really hard and it started to happen, or the ghost of this dimensions Peter Parker heard him and decided to deliver. Because, if Peter didn't know any better, than Doc Ock was punching herself.

Only, she looked just as surprised as Peter, so that couldn't be it.

Then Miles entered and Peter didn't know it was possible to be that happy again.

It was like an entire fanfare was playing in his chest, because  _damn_ look at him, Miles was doing it! Controlling his powers on command! And, holy shit, where'd he get that costume, cause it was frickin awesome, and look at him using his web-shooters like a pro! It was amazing!

Peter was so proud of him! Defying the odds even when they seemed stacked against you.  _Yeah! Go get em' Miles!_

And just like that, the odds were back in their favor. Sure the collider started spouting buildings and trains, and the villain weren't letting up, and that the button was floating off somewhere in the mess, but at least they had a chance.

Doc Ock was still proving difficult, but with him, Miles, and Gwen, they couldn't totally take her down – and HOLY SHIT SHE WAS HIT WITH A TRUCK! Oh SHIT, she was hit with a  _TRUCK_.

Damn…..that was….that was… _yikes_ …

Thank goodness for spidey-sense, ammirite?

But…at least they could take control of the collider now…

So, with a bit of horror and shock, they met up with the other Spiders. Peni had lost SP/DR in the fight, sprouting a new cluster of thorns on her arms. But her smile was there, her eyes still bright, because she was a  _fighter_.

They hooked the goober in and it was time to go. Looking around at all of them, Peter felt something warm in his chest. He's only known them for a short time, but even with the small window, it felt as though he's known them forever. These amazing people who fought the same fight he did. Who had thorns AND flowers, and got back on their feet no matter what.

Peni left first.

Then Spider-Ham.

Then Noir.

Then Gwen.

And finally, it was Peter's turn.

Which, oi, he wasn't ready for that either. But Miles didn't need him anymore. It might be rough starting out, but he'd get the hang of being Spider-Man in no time. The kid was amazing, and talented, and bright, and  _shit_ Peter was going to miss him so much.

It's been a while since he's felt so happy like this. It was a feeling he wasn't sure he'd find back in his dimension. MJ wouldn't want to see him again. His city was probably relieved he was gone. Maybe… Maybe he shouldn't go back. He'd glitch into oblivion here, but could it really be so bad with this happy feeling in his chest. Was the prospect of no longer screwing things up and hurting his loved ones such a bad one?

It was just a matter of getting Miles to understand.

Thankfully, Kingpin gave him the distraction he needed. Besides, he couldn't leave Miles with THAT maniac. There's no way he was going to let that fat-ass hurt another Spider-Man.

So why was Miles trying to make him go? Did he want Peter to leave too?

Well, he'd have to catch him first.

Which…he did…

A perfect replica of the move Peter used on him earlier, because he's a clever kid like that.

"You gotta go home, man," he says, expression so unbelievable soft Peter's suffocating a little.

Or maybe that's just the terror crawling up his throat, "How do I know I won't just mess it again?" He says, desperately. He can't live with himself knowing he will only make things worse.

But Miles just smiles at him, "You don't."

And Peter is slapped in the face with his back his own advice. "A leap of faith," he finishes, and chuckled.

No what? Miles got this handled. He didn't need Peter's help anymore, and that was okay. He let go of Miles' hand.

And Miles let him go.

"Not bad kid," he says before light encases him, and he  _really_ means it.

* * *

 

* * *

Peter is propelled back into his room. Everything is still a cluttered mess - more so than it usually was - thanks to the portal-thing, so it wasn't unreasonable when he landed smack-dab on a chair and knocked over a small pile of unpacked moving boxes. He groaned, kicking the box away, and prying the old pizza-slice off his chest and slowly stood.

It took him a second to process it, and he had to inspect a few objects thoroughly before deducing that he  _was_ back in his own universe. He shuffled in his feet, fingers skimming lightly along his thighs, not quite sure how he felt about that. On the bright side, he was back! On the downside, he was  _back_.

He rubbed his arms, feeling the prickly bumps of his thorns on his arms, and swallows like he's got one of Ock's tentacles around his esophagus. His aches felt real, his bruises very much there, the adrenaline running its fuse through his veins was there, but now, standing back in his apartment, it all felt so...surreal. Like the whole thing had been a hallucination or a dream.

Here, nobody knew what happened. His neighbors probably didn't even know that he was gone at all. Everyone had kept going on, unknowing that he had been in an entirely different dimension. Everything was the same.

But Peter felt different. His chest felt a little tight, his insecurities still sitting in his stomach, but there was something else there. A determination. A reconfigured purpose that tingled in his hands and ran through every piece of muscle, tissue, and cartilage in his body. Miles' face was still in his head, the kids' soft smile, his bright eyes.

" _You gotta go home, man,"_

And thanks to him, Peter WAS home. He got a second chance and he wasn't going to screw it up this time.

_All it's take is a leap of faith._

Peter chuckled, a sound that's halfway there and composed mostly of air, and so painstakingly tired it makes him wince, but it releases the tension coiled in his back and he has to lean against the wall to stop himself from just collapsing on the floor. One-handed, he rubs his face down, and feels his smile, however small it is, on his fingers.

"Thanks, Miles,"

There's still a sense of worry sprouting in his chest, planted by the thought that Miles -  _little Miles -_ was back in his dimension shutting down the collider and taking on one Marshmallow-Fisk. His heart ached with concern, but he knew, as sure as the heart in his chest, that Miles would be okay. He was tough. He could do it.

Peter straightened up, running his hand up over his hair to survey his apartment. Hell, it was a  _huge_ mess. It was going to take forever to clean up. Sighing, but not particularly put-off, he bent down and started picking up the closest objects.

It took a while to clean it up, most of the night - it was night, right? He looked out the window to make sure - and after getting a smell of himself as he picked up his table, he nearly gagged. Ugh, he smelled  _rancid._ Like, full-on nuclear waste, bag-him-up-and-burn-him stench that would give anyone within a 5-foot radius of him cancer. Had he smelled like this the whole time?

Once his apartment was at least presentable, he grabbed a slightly dirty towel (no worse than him), and made a bee-line for the bathroom. He stripped mindlessly out of the torn and olid spandex, tossing it in the far corner where it could die in peace, and took one step toward the shower when he stopped, muscles seizing.

Slowly, he turned back to look into the scuffed mirror, bracing his arms against both sides of the sink to lean in toward his reflection. His throat was tight, eyes wide, and fingers shaking as they grazed the surface of his skin, feebly tracing the petals of bright, blossoming flowers. His chest caught, stunting his breathing for a second, and he touched them more fervently, desperately, as if to make sure they were really there.

On his shoulders, a bushel of tulips were blooming, their blue, white, and purple petals so beautiful that swallowing had become 10X harder. On his brow, a vibrant cluster of poppies grew bountifully. On his stomach, a cartoonish-looking daffodil grew just below his diaphragm. When he turned, Peter could see a vine of grey roses climbing up his spine. The pink and white azaleas on his wrist, right where his web-shooters go.The rose over his heart was visible again and in full-bloom. But most eye-catching and voluminous of them all, was the huge, sprouting sunflower splayed across his chest.

His thoughts returned to Aunt May, the one back in the other dimension, when she touched his cheek so gently, and the way the grief for his own Aunt alleviated. Peni, when she and Peter talked over the making of the goober, how he felt, for once in the longest time, that he wasn't as stupid as he felt. Spider-Ham and the times he actually got Peter to laugh, a good, hearty-laugh that he could feel in his gut. Noir, and his silent understanding, and the way he didn't need to push to know exactly what Peter was feeling. Gwen, who made him see that Spider-Man was worth it. Seeing MJ again, getting to see her beautiful face once more, and the opportunity to apologize for real.

And Miles, for making Peter feel more alive and worth-while than he had felt in a very long time.

Peter trembled against the sink, gripping the porcelain so hard it cracked under his fingers, before ripping his hands away to hide them in his face. His cheeks were wet and red, but his smile - he didn't think it was possible to smile so big.

He laughed into his hands, a watery sound, but it was authentic. The dark, hollow spot in his chest popped, like an oily bubble, and he looked up, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

The thorns weren't gone. They still grew tightly around his body, poking around his skin, and hiding beneath the flowers - but he didn't care so much anymore. They were there, and they would probably stay there. But he supposed that didn't mean he could be flower-less. Even the thorniest stems could blossom, and they would be no less beautiful.

"Thanks, guys," he whispered, voice raw and wrecked, as he looked up toward the ceiling, hoping that somewhere out there, they heard.

For the first time, Peter B. Parker felt alive.

He felt alive, and he didn't feel alone.

Because, like him, there were people out there fighting the good fight, getting thorns, and sprouting flowers. They were laughing, smiling, hurting, crying, loving, frustrated, annoyed, happy, and  _living_.

There were people out there exactly like him, and it was going to be okay.

 _He_ was going to be okay. It was gonna be rough, going to be hard to resettle his life after doing his best to keep it away, but he could do it. He was going to find his MJ and apologize to  _her,_ talk things out, and hopefully, they could try again. To be honest, kids weren't sounding like such a bad idea anymore.

But first, he needed to help himself. Get healthy again, mentally, physically, and emotionally. He was going to clean up himself first, and he was okay with that.

Peter wiped the tears from his eyes, one-hand still splayed over the sunflower, with a cool, relieving sense that everything was actually going to be okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnd done! My heart - this was very good for me to write. Very therapeutic, if I'm being honest, and I wholeheartedly LOVE Peter B. Parker. The movie was so goooooooood.
> 
> Anyway, hopes you enjoyed! :D :D


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